


Tick Tock

by plaguewind



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Creepyshipping, F/M, Fingering, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Smut, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, petyrxsansa, there is plot too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 01:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaguewind/pseuds/plaguewind
Summary: I sleep...or do I sleep? I don't know anymore. I never stop because there is no end in sight. I am numb. And then there is her. - PetyrHe doesn't see me coming. I am not even on his radar as an adversary. He's not going to know what's hit him. - SansaSome of you may recognize this work. I was having some problems getting it to update so I deleted it and uploaded again. Unfortunately, that means I lost all your lovely comments. =( But hopefully now it will upload properly and that might mean more people will get to read it. For those who have read this, you might want to give a quick reread. I didn't drastically change anything but I added a few tidbits that are important. I also edited any mess ups I missed the first go round and it reads more smoothly. It already read pretty smooth but now, it's smoothER. For those who haven't read this, please enjoy. I actually really love this fic and I always forget how fun it is to write. It's probably one of my works I'm most proud of so far. I feel like it's speaks more about my writing style than my usual pxs fics.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Petyr_ **

Alarm goes off at six thirty a.m. Jolt up, eyes wide. Had I even slept? Doesn’t matter, day must go on. Take a shower, brush my teeth, put on my suit. Seven-thousand dollar Armani, check. I look in the mirror, make sure my mask is straight. Of course it is, it doesn’t leave my face anymore. I take my pills. _When did they become **my** pills_? Glass of water to chase two down and I’m all set for a few hours. Briefcase, keys, and I’m out the door.

I run into Mrs. Roberts in the elevator, she and her husband own the floor below mine. She smiles, delighted to see me as always. Her husband is a congressman who drinks and yells all the time and she deals with it because he has money and power. She wants to fuck me. I know this by how she leans her body into mine, how she giggles at almost everything I say, even if it isn’t funny. It’s sad and if I had a heart I might give her a pity fuck but I don’t, so I make small talk until I can push my way past her and get on with my day. So far she has been unable to take a hint.

Seven a.m. appointment is at Bellevue. I stand at the head of a long, oval table surrounded by physicians and surgeons, convincing them that the drugs I’m selling are better than any they have seen before, that’s why they are so expensive of course. Research has proven it, yada yada. They aren’t better though, not really. I’m selling anti-depressants, anti-seizure medications, high blood pressure pills, pain pills, you name it. The ones that sell the best are the pain pills. The heroin. It’s not really heroin, it’s synthetic heroin. Acceptable heroin. The pill industry was booming and I was climbing on top of it.

Nine a.m. pain clinic, 11 a.m Mount Sinai, 1 p.m. lunch. Lunch consists of two more pills and coffee. Then on to the next clinic, next hospital. The money doesn't make itself, always have to snag the next big client. I learned quickly how easy money is to make with drugs, even if you're selling them legally. Legal drug dealer, that's what I am. Sometimes the thought makes me bust out laughing, even if I'm siting alone in a booth at a restaurant and the other patrons stare at me. That makes it even funnier. They wouldn’t laugh if they seen my bank account. Pharmaceutical sales reps could bank $132,000 a year and I made obscenely more than that because I was half owner of the company as well. Once Varys, my partner, had suggested I leave the sales to the salesmen but you see, I have a talent for convincing people to buy, I have a talent for convincing people to do anything. Why leave sales to the rookies when I can bring in twice the clients they did? Besides, what good is a talent if it's wasted?

It leaves my plate full. Especially since it's not my only job. I found myself needing to stay awake longer. That’s when the pills became my pills. It's not a big deal. Really, it's not. I only take enough to stay focused. It's very difficult to make money when you're tired all the time, so I _ended_ the tired.

Six o’clock and I finish with my last client. They are buying, of course they are buying. I never lose a customer. Never. I hop in my Bentley Continental GT and head to the club. She’s a beautiful machine and she should be for $200,000. When I pull up to the curb in front of the valet, men and women stare. The men are wishing they were me and the women want to sleep with me. It doesn’t matter that I’m over forty and my hair is greying. People are moved by money and power.

“Mr. Baelish, good to see you,” the valet says, taking my keys. Of course it’s good to see me, I am the man who pays his bills.

“Take care of her, Marco.”

“As always, Mr. Baelish.”

I own this club and it is _the_ club in New York City. The Mockingbird. People wait in line for hours to get inside but out of those only the most beautiful are allowed entrance. Otherwise my clients are the rich and powerful, the famous, and they have a card that let's them skip the line. The club alone brings in around $20,000,000 a year after expenses. To put it simply, I have money. I have lots of money.

When I go inside people fawn over me, come up to greet me, but they are careful not to fawn too much. I have little patience for people who annoy me. I make my way through the crowd as quickly as possible and retreat to my office on the second floor. My objective as always, is to go over the numbers - the sales and expenses (products, utilities, supplies, employees). You would think with my amount of money I would have people to do it for me but as with my day job, there are some things I feel are always best kept in your own hands. Who is more trustworthy than one's self? _No one_ , that's who. No detail escapes me. I ensure I am not losing money anywhere. If I find out anyone is stealing from me, they’re fired. If anyone so much as affects one cent of my money, they’re fired. I have no sympathy. I do not care if their mother is sick or their dog is dying. Everyone is replaceable.

I sit at the desk and watch the cameras. People dance and laugh in drunken stupors. Sexual acts take place on my screens, drug use. There is nothing I haven’t seen. It doesn’t move me, it doesn’t shock me. I am numb to all of it. I only intervene if it disrupts my business. Business. It’s everything.

I go back out on the floor for a while, to mingle, to show my face...to be a _presence_. They like to see me, as though I’m a celebrity. They like to see the man their money is going to. I go to the bar and get a drink. Scotch. It goes down hard and that’s why I like it. I’m about to leave and call it a night when something grabs my attention from the corner of my eye. Red. I turn to see. Red hair and eyes as blue as a fictional ocean.

She’s tall and leggy. Skin the color of porcelain. Short black dress scooped at the neck and I can see the mountains of her breasts. She’s smiling at another girl holding onto her arm, a blonde. Her cheeks blushed red from alcohol. Why do I stop? Why can’t I move? I need to get going, I need to go home and pretend to sleep. I am stuck. I stare like an idiot. She looks at me and makes eye contact, and I honestly don’t know if it is coincidence or she felt me looking.

Her blonde friend notices and whispers something in her ear. The two of them make their way toward me. I stand still, a statue.

“Are you Petyr Baelish?” the blonde asks, and the red-head seems to blush a deeper shade of crimson.

“I am.” I answer her but I can't look at her. I can't move my eyes off the red-head. They are up close now. They are very young but their attire and their beauty probably allowed them to slip past my bouncers. Probably fake IDs too.

“I love your club,” blondie says. “Everyone wants to get into it.”

I really don’t care what she thinks. “What about you?” I ask the one I cannot move my eyes from. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.” Her voice is soft and shy.

“What’s your name?”

I watch as her eyes dart. Looking around. She’s scared of something but I have no idea what. “I’m Sansa.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Sansa.” _Sansa._ The name sounds almost familiar but I can't place it. It's too unique for me to have heard it on someone else. And yet...

I am transfixed. I have never seen a woman more beautiful but I cannot let her know that. “I hope you plan to come again.”

She nods. “Okay.” Her answer almost makes me smile. She answered as if I had _asked_ her to come again.

"It was nice to meet you. Both." I walk away. I leave them there. It is time for me to go back to my apartment. I have so many files to look over, so many numbers to count and the morning will come before I am ready.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Petyr_ **

I wake up with a raging hard-on. My balls tight and swollen. Images of red hair, blue eyes and milky skin run through my head. It's been too long since I last yanked one out so I spit in my hand and fist my cock, rubbing my nuts with my other hand. I think of the red-head. What was her name again? Sansa? Yeah that was it. Couldn't forget a name like that.

I think of Sansa's delicate little fingers wrapped around my dick instead of my own. I think of her lips sucking me dry. I think of those long legs in the air while I pound the fuck out of her. I’m jerking my cock like a mad man while in my head I'm fucking Sansa in every position I can think of. It doesn't take long for that lovely, blinding pleasure to release and I cum hard and long, thick ropes gushing out onto my stomach. Relief.

Shower, teeth, suit, pills. Briefcase, keys. Off to work.

Saturdays are seemingly endless days. At least they feel that way. On Saturdays I stay at the office. Varys and I meet with our lab rats and researchers. We talk side effects and risk factors. We talk cost and profit. We meet with our lawyers and go over all of our current lawsuits because there are _always_ lawsuits. Whenever someone has a loved one that dies they need to blame it on someone. If not the doctors themselves, they come after companies like mine. The cancer victims are my favorite. As if it is our drugs that kill them and not the cancer itself.

Sebastian Grant sits across from me. He is a good lawyer. The best of the best that money can buy so I bought him. He had been filled with grand ideas of moral code and justice at first but it hadn't taken long for me to convince him. Well, it was the zeros that had convinced him. He has an ex-wife to make alimony payments to and a brand new young wife with a brand new baby to support.

"Petyr, I have to be straight with you. The Poole case is going to be a tough one. I may lose. Or you may have to come off a considerably larger chunk of money to settle."

"You never lose."

"Yeah but this time it's different. A teenage girl became addicted to opiates manufactured by _this_ company and overdosed. She's dead. The family has contacted all the media outlets and the public is eating this thing up. They want to crucify a bad guy."

"It's not my company's fault she didn't take them as directed. Why don't they sue the doctor who prescribed them to her?"

"They are," Varys interjects. "It doesn't matter."

Sebastian nods in agreement. "He's right. Her parents hired the best attorney in New York City-"

"I thought you were the best attorney in New York City."

The German-American sighs. I love to get under his skin. I love getting under everyone's skin really. "Petyr, the facts don't matter on this one as much as they should. They are going to yank at the heart strings of the jury, convincing them that both the doctor and you are responsible for killing their little girl. They are going to put teary-eyed witnesses on the stand and the jury will be so heartbroken they will vote in the family's favor. With all of the overdose deaths the country as seen lately, they are dying for a scapegoat. It doesn't matter that your company isn't the only company. You'll be an example. A good place to start."

"Can we buy the jury?"

"You can't buy everyone." Varys says.

"You'd be surprised. Fine. Just make sure you scrutinize every single jury member. Pick the ones most likely to go on hard facts. What else do you want me to do?"

He shakes his head. "Just be ready to empty your pockets."

I leave the office for lunch. I can’t stand staying inside the same building all day. My assistant, Olyvar, offers to order something for me and have it brought up but I decline. Instead I opt for sushi at the little Japanese joint down the street. The staff is always yelling at one another and they aren't overly friendly but the grub is good. I eat all I can, which is a lot. You would never believe how much I can eat by looking at me. I stay slim without even trying but I’m not complaining. Most men my age are struggling with love-handles and hair loss. Diets and exercise. I never seem to have to worry about those things.

Back to the office I go, biding my time for four more hours until I leave for my club. I always enjoy my night job more than my day job but I feel exceptionally excited to get there this evening. I eat two more pills on the drive over, as I wonder if the red-head will be back. As I hand my keys to Marco, I'm thinking it's unlikely she will come back again so soon, and no more than I make that assumption my eyes scan the crowd waiting outside and there she is. Tonight she is wearing a blue v-necked dress that hugs her body. I’m not exaggerating. It looks like it has been glued on her. I know she is young, maybe nineteen or twenty, using a fake ID to get into my club, but she has the body of a woman. Full breasts, small waist, wider hips. Sexy.

As I pass by the bouncers I stop for a moment and speak with the two to make sure they let her in. They probably would have anyway but I didn’t feel like taking any chances. I make my way inside, music pumping, business booming. I can almost see the dollar signs. I busy myself going over the books as usual but I am anxious to get back on the floor. I want to see her again, talk to her. Want to get as far as I can get with her. I want to taste her lips, both sets. I page Ros into my office. She runs the club when I am not there, handles all of the petty shit I don’t have time for.

“Yes, Mr. Baelish?” she says when she enters.

“Before you leave tonight do a quick run down. Make sure everything is in order, will ya? I don’t feel like staring at numbers right now.”

“Of course, sir. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”

“Is anyone is my personal lounge tonight?”

“No, no one of that stature has arrived yet this evening.”

“Good, I’m going to use it. There’s a girl out there, she has red hair and she’s wearing a blue dress. Her name is Sansa. Bring her to me. Also a bottle of Scotch and whatever the lady wants.”

I watch her eyes change as questions pop into her head. I never take girls into my lounge with me. “Is that it, sir?”

“Yes. Make her comfortable. I’ll be out shortly.”

I remove my jacket and tie. Unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt. I take a look at my reflection in the mirror on the back of the office door. I know I am probably twenty-five years older than this girl but I also know I am a good-looking man. Even if she’s not immediately attracted to me, she will be before the night is over. I always get what I want. Satisfied with my appearance, I make my way to my lounge.

The VIP lounges are located near the back of the club. There are four, counting mine, but only the richest or most famous people are allowed to use mine. It's the largest and has the most comfortable furniture. White chairs with matching sofa, blue lighting. White drapes surround it and when open there’s a view of the entire club. It has a fifty-two inch flat screen television in it as well. When I arrive the drapes are open and she is sitting on the sofa, long legs crossed before her. She looks up expectantly when I enter.

“Thank you for joining me.” I close the drapes behind me. “Are you comfortable? Did Ros give you a drink?”

“Yes, thank you,” she nods to the bottle of champagne sitting on the table.

“Armand de Brignac? You have excellent taste.”

She blushes. “Oh no, I had no idea what to order. Your..uh...the lady who brought me here, she suggested it.”

“Either way... May I sit?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

I sit next to her on the sofa, very little space between us. She doesn’t slide over so I take this to mean she doesn’t mind the closeness. She smells of clean linen and lemons. I like it. Up close her eyes are sapphire pools and for a moment it feels like I am drowning.

“So what’s it like to own a place like this, Mr. Baelish?”

“I like it. It’s not all glitter and glam but it’s definitely more interesting than your average desk job. Oh, and please, call me Petyr.”

“Petyr it is.” She smiles sweetly at me. Bites her bottom lip, giggles. Is she flirting?

“Is your friend here with you tonight, Sansa?”

“No. I came by myself.”

“What brought you back so soon?”

She blushes again, this time a deeper shade of crimson. Her eyes dart down, then dark back up to meet my own. “I don’t know, I guess I saw something I like.”

She is definitely flirting with me and I think I get her game. Young rich, girl looking for a thrill with an older man. Maybe even looking for a sugar daddy. I see them all the time but usually I ignore them. She was too beautiful to ignore. I figure I could spare throwing a few pretty things her way if it means she’ll ride my dick all night.

“What do you like to do, Sansa? Are you a student?” I ask, moving sideways so that I face her. I drape my arm behind her on the back of the sofa. She rests her shoulder on my arm and leans toward me a little more.

“Yes.”

“What are you studying?”

“Political science.”

“Really?”

“Why? Does that surprise you?”

“A little. Beautiful girls usually study art or nineteenth-century poetry. You know, something completely useless that makes them sound educated while actually relying entirely on their looks or daddy’s money to get by in life.”

She laughs and her small hand presses against my chest. “You’re funny, Petyr.” The contact sends a jolt straight down to my cock. It has been way too long since I have indulged in my desires with a woman.

“You’re beautiful, Sweetling.” I run my hand over her cheek and she turns her face towards my palm. Her skin is soft and smooth. I immediately wonder if the rest of her body feels the same. “May I kiss you?”

She doesn’t answer me with words, instead she tilts her chin up and hovers centimeters from my mouth, closing her eyes. I close the gap, press my lips to hers. _Oh she's heaven._ I ease her along for a bit. Then I will her to open her lips with my tongue. She opens cautiously. She is not very experienced, I can tell. I have no problem remedying that. I use my tongue to guide hers until she is mocking my movements. She is a quick study.

She sighs into my mouth and I’m on fire. My cock hard inside my pants. I can’t help but reach down to rub my hand over the bare flesh of her legs. Up over her knee. Further up still, her thigh. I’m making my way under the bottom of her dress.

A phone chirps. She pulls away from me way too quickly. “Shit. What time is it?”

“I don’t know.” My hand is still on her thigh. I’m rubbing it softly, up and down. I want to feel between her legs. I need to know if that kiss made her wet.

“I have to go.” She reaches to a purse on the floor and pulls out a mobile. “Shit. Shit. I’m sorry. I really have to go.” She clutches the purse and stands up. She’s almost through the drapes.

I'm devastated. We were only together for moments, not even a half hour. “Wait, how can I contact you?”

She stops and her eyes dart around a few times. She walks back over to me, leans down and presses her lips to mine briefly. “I’ll be back.” Then she is gone.

“Fuck.”

I pour a glass of Scotch and take a pill.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Sansa_ **

The female manager stalks me down and says that Petyr Baelish has invited me to join him for the evening. I immediately send a text to Margaery and tell her to send me a text in about an hour. When the phone goes off I jump up and act like it’s something urgent, like I have to leave immediately. I don’t really but I can’t stay and let him keep pawing at me. I seen the growing bulge in his pants. He was ready to fuck on the spot and it was too soon for that. I need to string him along until I get what I need and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who keeps a girl around for very long after he’s fucked her.

I make my exit quickly in case he tries to follow me. Hail a cab. This was all going to be much easier than I had originally expected. All I had had to do was get in his line of sight and I had him. Such a predictable creep. I hop in the backseat of the cab, deciding that I’m going to make Mr. Baelish wait a few days before he sees me again. Gotta keep his interest after all. I giggle at how easy it was to catch his eye, feeling giddy. He has no idea what’s coming to him, the arrogant prick thinks he’s untouchable. Soon enough he will know that he isn’t and I can’t wait to see his face when his whole world comes crashing down.

The cab drops me off but before I go inside I sneak over to the side of the house and pull my back pack with my change of clothes out from under the shrubs that wrap around the front porch. I shimmy into my jeans and pull a t-shirt on to hide my dress. Tuck the heels and my purse into my bag and slip into my sandals. Nothing is out of the ordinary when I walk through the front door looking like a typical teenager.

Mr. Poole is in the living room watching the news. “How was the library, Sansa?” he asks as I enter. “Get anything accomplished?”

“Oh yeah, tons Mr. Poole. Where’s Arya?”

“Upstairs. Most likely planning to take over the world.”

“Sounds about right. Well, I’m really tired. I’m going to call it a night. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sansa.”

I go upstairs to mine and Arya’s room. Arya is my younger sister, she’s fifteen. She doesn’t say anything as I enter, just continues to stare mindlessly at her laptop. She’s never been the sweetest kid to be honest but she’s only gotten worse since the accident. She always stays at a distance and I guess I can’t blame her. I feel her eyes on me as I pull off my clothes but she doesn’t comment on the dress or why I was covering it up. Most likely she doesn’t care, probably figures I snuck out to a party or something.

I slip into something comfortable, grab my laptop, and plop onto my twin bed which sets on the opposite side of the room from Arya’s. I miss having my own room but when we were first taken in by the Poole’s there was only one vacant room so we had no choice but to share. Now Jeyne’s room is empty and Mr. Poole said one of us could use it but I just can’t. I don’t even go into it, it reminds me too much of her. I think Arya feels the same but she will never say it out loud.

I open up chrome and resume my research. I scroll through the information. Over fifty suits have been filed against Petyr Baelish’s pharmaceutical company in the last ten years and most of them had been thrown out of court. A hand full had ended in settlements. I read through articles and interviews.

_”I express my deepest condolences to the family,” Baelish stated. “My heart always goes out to anyone who loses a loved one but that still does not make it the fault of my company. We manufacture these drugs to help people and some of them do have very serious consequences if not taken as directed. I cannot be held accountable for those who can’t read a warning label.”_

Such a smug bastard. I keep reading and watch a few youtube interviews. It’s all more of the same. People die and his pockets keep getting fatter. He always expresses his deepest condolences while saying fuck you, it’s not my problem. I know he’s not the only one out there getting rich off habit-forming drugs that kill people but it’s _personal_ for me. I can’t take down all of big pharma but I think I can make sure Petyr Baelish loses the Poole suit. Maybe he wasn’t the one who fed them the pills but if people like him stopped making them they would still be here.

I close my laptop and close my eyes. I need to sleep. Revenge takes a lot out of a person.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Petyr_ **

It has been two days and she has not returned. I am beginning to think she isn't going to and the idea is driving me nuts. When I set my sights on something I absolutely have to have it and I accept nothing less. So it was with her. Sansa. Even as I go about my daily routines, work included, her face keeps popping into my head. I try to console my ego, tell myself she isn't the only red-head in the world, that I can find another one. I don't want another one. I want that one. The taste of her lips and feel of her skin beneath my fingers is etched into my memory.

To be honest I don't get laid a lot. Understand though that this is entirely my choice. Many opportunities present themselves for a man like myself, _many_ , but rarely ever do I see a woman worth my time. Some might say I'm arrogant, conceited even. I prefer to think of myself as picky. Which is why I'm not married and haven't been in an actual relationship since I was a young man. It is very hard for a woman to make that sort of impression on me so you can imagine my difficulty accepting that this _girl_ had not left my thoughts since I had met her.

"You seem rather distracted, Petyr," Varys says. He is sitting in the chair across my desk, attempting to give me the details on a new drug our busy little scientists were working on.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh really? What's it for?"

"What's what for?"

"The new drug, Petyr."

"It's a new pain pill. Stronger than any they have made yet."

"Hmph. That's rather vague and a lucky guess."

I eye my partner. He is an unusual man. Chubby. Keeps his head as bald as a cue ball. He comes off as somewhat flamboyant but I have no idea if he actually _is_ gay. I have no idea what he's into, our minds just work well together, a fact we learned back when we were working for Lannister Enterprises.

"So are you going to tell me?" he asks.

"Tell you what?"

"Jesus. For someone so smart you're a complete idiot. What has you so distracted?"

"I'd rather not."

"Fine. Keep it up there in that sick little head of yours."

"So what's the estimated manufacturing cost of this new miracle pill?"

"Half that of it's predecessors."

"Well, it's got my vote already. Side effects?"

"Still testing it. We should know soon enough."

"Sounds promising." _Fuck, get the fuck out of my head_. It's driving me insane. I can't concentrate on what he's saying for two minutes without the vision of her popping back into my brain. "Varys, I think I'm done for the day."

I reach in my pocket, pull out a bottle and pop two pills in my mouth.

"I think you need to stop taking those."

"Why? We sell them to everyone else."

"We sell them to people who need them. You don't need them."

I almost laugh. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Which part?"

"I'll see you tomorrow."

I go back to my place to change. Black button down, red tie, black slacks. I have impeccable tastes in clothing and money to afford a tailor. My clothes are made to fit my slender frame and I know I look damn good as I look in the mirror. I'm hoping she thinks so too, she has to.

I arrive at my club early and I know if she does come, it will be a while, but I can't help myself. I'm anxious. I busy myself with paperwork and numbers as the time ticks by slowly. It's not until after nine o'clock that there is a knock on my office door.

"Come in."

It's Ros. "Sorry to disturb you Mr. Baelish but your presence has been requested."

"By whom?"

"The girl that was with you the other night."

My heart skips beats. Or it feels like it does anyway.

"I seated her in your lounge. She's waiting."

"Make her wait longer but tell her I'll be with her shortly. Then in about an hour tell her I'm ready for her and bring her here."

"Here to your office?"

"Yes."

"As you wish."

The agony of waiting is torture. I pace my office a few times. She made me wait, I have to make her wait. It's only fair but it's killing me. The minutes seem to drag by and I try not to look at the clock. It occurs to me that she may tire of waiting and leave but I have to take that chance. She needs to know who's in charge and hopefully she suffers as I have suffered over the last two days.

As it nears the hour I sit back down at my desk, calming myself. The image of perfect composure. Surely she hasn't left yet or Ros would have told me. No, she's still here, waiting to see me. I am bursting with excitement but my face is a mask of nothing at all. Finally the knock comes at my door again.

"Enter."

The door opens and I half expected to see Ros standing before me but it's not Ros. It's my red-haired beauty, tall and leggy. Tonight she's in a long-sleeved ivory dress with a deep scooped neckline. It flares out around her thighs, ending just above her knees.

"Hello, Sansa."

"Hello, Mr. Baelish."

I want to ask her where she's been but that would tell her I have been anxiously awaiting her return, that would make her think she has the upper hand. I can't allow that to happen.

"Would you like to go for a drink?"

"You mean somewhere else?"

I nod. "Yes. Somewhere quieter."

"Okay."

Within moments we are in my car, heading east. I know a great little restaurant that sits over looking East River. I think she'll like it. As I drive I keep glancing over at her bare legs, I want to put my hand on one but I refrain.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Sansa?" I ask. Not that I care but I'm interested. I'm interested in her.

"Not at the moment. I had one but we broke up a few months ago."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno, I just lost interest I guess. What about you?"

"Me? No."

"No you don't have a girlfriend?"

I shake my head, shifting into fifth. "No. I don't do girlfriends." It's probably best that she understand my intentions now.

She laughs. "You don't do girlfriends."

"No."

"It wasn't a question."

"I know."

I don't have reservations at the restaurant but they know me so I don't need them. We are seated at a lovely little table on the deck overlooking the water. I order drinks and they don't bother to ask for her ID, they would never question me. I'm trying to impress her but I get the feeling she's not easily impressed. A challenge. I never say no to a challenge.

"So, what's your last name, Sansa? You know mine."

"Stone."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Only child."

"What do your parents do?"

"Are you always this boring or are you just making small talk?"

I grin. She's a little pistol. "I'm curious."

"About what?"

"What do you think?"

She smiles over her glass before taking a sip. The waiter returns to our table for our orders.

"I'll have the salmon with a side salad." I want to keep it light.

"And for the lady?"

"Well, that's entirely up to her."

She orders the ribeye and I smile inwardly. Is she trying to tell me she likes meat?

As we wait for our food she asks me about the club and what else I do. I answer honestly. For someone so young she speaks with knowledge. I realize I have no clue how old she is but I know she is not twenty-one.

"How old are you, Sansa?"

"Nineteen."

She is a child but a legal child so I do not feel any guilt.

"Do you often find yourself pursuing older men?"

She takes another sip of her drink and sits it down most lady-like. An image of perfect composure. I see a bit of myself in her.

"No," she answers. "You're the first. _Older man_ , that is. If I'm being honest I never have to do the pursuing."

That is definitely the truth. A girl with her beauty likely had the boys and men lined up. And yet she had waited for me.

"What brought you to my club?"

"My friend wanted to go. We hear about it all the time at school. It's quite popular. She found someone who could make us fake IDs. Does my age bother you Mr. Baelish?"

"No."

Our food arrives and we eat, not talking about anything of importance. I ask her about her friend who had been with her the first night. She asks me about my jobs. I ask her about school. It is idle conversation. In actuality I can't stop thinking about taking her back to my apartment. I can't get the image of her legs wrapped around my head out of my mind.

When we are done eating I pay the bill and leave a hefty tip. Outside the restaurant we wait for the valet to pull my car around and I open the door for her to get inside.

For a while I just drive and not once does she ask where we were going. After I get the car up to speed and keep it there I let go of the gear selector and put my hand on her thigh. I run my fingers over her skin, down to her knee and back up again. She is so soft. I inch my way up under her dress. My finger tips lightly brush her sex through her panties. She spreads her legs a little wider and I can feel my cock getting hard in my pants. I want to touch her but I stop and I wait. I pull my hand back, returning it to the gear selector.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Baelish?" She's not looking at me but I can see her grin in her reflection on the passenger window.

"Oh not as much as I will be, Sweetling. And I told you, call me Petyr."

In a few moments I pull up in front of my apartment building. I turn the car off and go around to open the door for her, hand the keys to the valet. There's always a valet.

I take her by the hand and lead her through the door and onto the elevator. As soon as the doors close I take her, pull her to me, smother her mouth with my own. Despite dinner she still tastes of lemons and sweetness. Her tongue entwines with my own and I am lost. I press my body into hers and she's pinned to the wall. Her hands are in my hair, mine are gripped onto her slim waist. My body is already alive with need. I want to fuck her right here.

The elevator dings and the doors open. We are on my floor. I take her hand and pull her with me until we reach my door. I'm still trying to kiss her as I fumble for my keys. Finally I get the door open and we stumble inside, entangled in one another.

I don't have to see the sofa to know where it's at and I guide her over to it, our lips never parting, and sink her down onto it on her back. I'm on top of her, my hands find her breasts and I squeeze through the fabric. I snake my hand down under her dress until my fingers hit the barrier of her panties. I can feel the dampness seeping through. She is wet. She wants me. This discovery makes me throb, my cock pulses inside my pants. I move the fabric aside to touch her and find confirmation, her slit is slick with desire.

"Ooh yes," I moan, as my fingers slip through her folds. She moans, a near echo of my own, and her hips buck against my hand.

Then it all stops.

She's pushing my hand away and pulling her dress down. She's pushing me back and standing up from the sofa.

"I'm sorry," she stutters. "I have to go."

I'm dazed in my lust. "What? Why?"

"I...I just have to. I have to go."

I'm on the sofa on my stomach. My cock is hard between my legs and I can't believe she's leaving me right now. I don't want my hand tonight, I want to bury myself inside of her tight, wet, heat.

"Where's your phone?" She asks.

"What?"

"Your phone?"

"My pocket."

She reaches down into my pants and I can't help but feel even more aroused. She takes my phone and punches buttons.

"My number. You have it now. But I have to leave."

She tosses the phone onto the sofa next to me and she is gone. I am aching with desire and I'm completely and utterly disappointed.

But I have her number.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Sansa** _

I’m shaking with rage by the time I make it home. I wasn't supposed to get turned on by the creep, merely supposed to _endure_ him pawing all over me, but I was wet. Not just a little wet, fucking _wet_ wet. Mr. Poole is nowhere in sight when I go inside, thank God, so I run up the stairs and head straight for the bathroom. I turn the hot water on and strip down, ignoring the burn as I step under the water. I want to scorch away his touch but as I wash myself the memory of deft fingers touching where no one, except myself, has touched before begins reigniting the desire I so desperately do not want to feel.

I turn the water off, step out and grab a towel, trying not to beat myself up too hard as I dry off. I am only human, reacting and responding to caresses of my most sensitive areas was natural. And as much I hate to admit it, he is a nice looking man. He is also a much older, more experienced man, of course he would know how to manipulate my body and get a rise out of me. _Except that I was wet before he touched me._ "Shut up!"

Arya is already asleep when I go in the bedroom so I'm careful not to make too much noise. I'm pretty sure she doesn't believe that I'm spending all of my nights at the library working on homework and projects but if she doesn't, she never says anything. It's strange because before mom's _accident_ she and I never got along. If she could find a way to annoy me, rat me out, whatever, she would. But not anymore. There's an unspoken truce between us. We are the forgotten ones, the outcasts, and thus must share a bond.

We have three brothers. Robb is married and lives in London with his wife and their new baby. He said taking in all of us would have been too big a financial strain, what with the new baby and all. Brandon and Rickon are both younger than Arya and I, and they currently reside with our uncle, Edmure. Edmure’s reason for not housing my sister and me is that he wouldn't know how to handle raising two girls without a woman in the house. There may be some truth in that but I'm pretty sure he just took the boys in so he could put them to work on his farm.

Anyway, it's just me and Arya with the Poole's, who had not even hesitated to take us in. Of course, things are different since Jeyne died. Mrs. Poole is barely recognizable anymore, consumed by grief, she hardly leaves the house except to see her therapists and doctors. The medication she's on keeps her in an almost zombie-like state, making her pretty much comatose by bedtime. I can't stand seeing her like that, on those stupid fucking pills, but how would she be without them? Mr. Poole is okay, I guess. I think having Arya and I around reminds him of Jeyne and keeps him going. She was their only child.

Sometimes I blame myself. How could I not know one of my best friends was addicted to pills? Especially after what happened with mom, I should have seen signs. Arya tells me not to be stupid, that we had our own shit going on. But I had to blame someone. I had to be _angry_ with someone. So when I found out Petyr Baelish's company manufactured the drugs that killed Jeyne - and oddly enough, my mother too - I jumped on it. It was easy. I recognized his name immediately, from mom. She had trusted his advice when he told her to see a doctor, had even recommended one to her, and to consider medication to help with her anxiety. “An old family friend”, she had called him. I'm glad now that I never met him when my mother was alive because then he would know my identity. He must not have been too good a friend not to know the name of my mother's children.

I don't give a fuck what the toxicologists or cops say, my mother did not commit suicide. She was depressed, that was true. What woman wouldn't be after losing her husband? But instead of trying to help her with her grief, the doctors just handed her more and more prescriptions. I don't care what _anyone_ says, my mom's overdose was accidental. She had trusted the doctors, trusted her _friend's_ advice, and accidentally taken too much.

And now I want revenge.

  
  
Margaery and I huddle over our lunch the next day, speaking in soft voices. It's likely that no one at my school has any idea who Petyr Baelish or B&V Pharmaceuticals are, but it's better to be careful. I had already made mistakes, like telling him my real first name. I was nervous that first night and I slipped. I can't afford any more slips.

“So you didn't fuck him?” Margaery asks, her eyes wide and curious.

“No, not yet. I got really angry because…”

“Because what?”

I loathe to admit it but Marg is my best friend and the only co-conspirator that I have in this mess, so I don’t plan to hold anything back from her. “He made me wet,” I answer and my cheeks are burning with shame.

“Whoa, wait a minute. Are you saying he turns you on?”

“Look, I couldn't help it alright? He's older. Experienced. He doesn't kiss like the boys here. It's better.”

“And despite the fact that he's a piece of shit, he's pretty fucking hot, right?”

The heat from my cheeks is spreading down my neck. “That too, yeah.”

“So what? Don't sweat it, Sans. In fact, it's better, it'll make it that much easier to sleep with him, won't it? And then you can turn around and nail him for statutory rape. The fact that he's hot is a bonus for you, especially since it's going to be your first time. I mean, if he didn't make you hot in the slightest this whole plan would have been a lot harder.”

"Why?"

She pauses for a second, putting her fork down. "Duh, it's going to hurt more if you don't have any lubrication down there. Also, he probably wouldn't want to fuck you after he realized you weren't into it. You can't fake that stuff with older guys, they _know_ a girl gets wet if she wants it."

"I don't _want_ it."

She grinned. “Maybe _you_ don't but the girl downstairs says otherwise."

This conversation is making me uncomfortable. My body betrayed me last night. "You're disgusting."

"Why didn't you just go ahead and do it? It would all be over and you'd have him by the balls. Literally and figuratively.”

“Because I want more. The sex with a teenager thing is a guarantee for a jail sentence but not a very long one. I wanna see if I can find out anything else damaging first because he seems like the type that throws women to the curb after he screws them. I want anything I can find that will make him look bad so Mr. Poole's lawyer has more ammo. I don't want him to go to jail for a few months and come out still a rich man, I want his company broke. I want him broke. And if I can find _any_ information linking him to my mom, old texts, emails... _anything_ , I’m taking it. It's possible that we could get him charged with an assisted suicide.”

Margaery looks at me like she feels sorry for me. I'm used to it. It's how most people look at you when they know both your parents and one of your best friends died. “Just be careful. The longer you mess with him the greater chance he'll find out what you're up to and I don't trust him.”

“I know but I have to try. He doesn't deserve to walk around rich and happy when everyone I love is six feet under. He deserves to suffer.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Petyr_ **

I ponder at how long I should wait to text her. Five minutes hardly seems long enough but I want her. Why does she keep running off? Does she really need to go or is she playing some kind of game, seeing if I’m willing to keep up the chase? These thoughts keep me up hours into the night.

I pour myself a drink and go over my pitch document for our new potential investors. Varys and I have been working on raising our capital from private investors and creating the pitch has always been more in my wheelhouse than Varys’. We’re dealing with a very diverse constituency and every investor has a different sweet-spot. I find myself constantly changing skins to resonate with an individual’s emotional or financial needs but when I’m dealing with a _group_ of people I have to sell something that resonates with _all_ of them. I’m pretty good at that. I’ve learned how to read people so that I’m able to sing exactly the song they want to hear. Which is why I can’t figure out why this girl keeps on running out on me.

 _Fuck._ There she is again. Is she really so mesmerizing? I save my document and grab my mobile. It’s 2 a.m. It’s not unheard of to send a text this late. If she’s asleep she can answer me in the morning and if she’s not...well, if she’s not then why the hell did she leave? She's very young. Is it possible that she’s nervous about fooling around with an older man? I kind of always figured girls liked it when men were a bit older. More experience, maturity and all that jazz but I guess I’m more than a _bit_ older than her. I'm old enough to be her father.

I go to bed but I don't sleep.

The next day I'm restless. I can barely focus at the meeting Varys and I have with the new investors but somehow I still pull through. They don't notice that I'm not at peak perfomance but Varys does. He watches me anxiously when I give my pitch.

I think I hear my text tone and stop to check. It's nothing. “I'm sorry gentlemen, where was I?” I continue but now she's in my head and there's a moment where I pause because I can't remember what the fuck I'm supposed to be saying.

In the end it doesn't matter because even at fifty percent I’m better than most people. After several handshakes and signatures we've made big bucks but it doesn't stop my partner from running his yap when the room is clear.

“I don't know what's gotten into but you need to get it out.”

I shutdown and close my laptop. “I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about.”

He leans over the table, raising a brow. “You could have cost us thousands of dollars."

“I didn't. And I wouldn't. Our clients didn't seem to have a problem.”

He “hmphs” me. “Is it a woman?”

My heart feels like it misses a beat. _Sansa._ I pick up my laptop and portfolios. “No.”

"You lie. You're jaw clenched when I asked you. My oh my, who _must_ she be to have caught your eye?”

I don’t want to tell him anything, even though he guessed right. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

"You can walk away but I'll keep asking about her."

I do not reply.

She doesn’t show up at my club that night and it has me more bothered than I care to admit. Some part of me had expected to see her there and I felt somewhat down when she wasn’t. With no desire whatsoever to work or mingle, I head home for the evening. After a few more hours I can resist the urge no longer. I have to text her.

 ** _Did you have somewhere more important to be?_** I hit _send_ and almost immediately wish I hadn’t. It sounds kind of whiny and insecure and the last thing I want is to appear insecure.

Minutes go by and I pace back and forth, barefoot, across my cold tile floors. I don’t understand what it is about this girl that has me so infatuated. The last time I obsessively thought about a female was in my teenage years. Catelyn Tully. Now that I think about it, Sansa sort of reminds me of her. Both have red hair, blue eyes and porcelain skin, though Sansa is by far infinitely more beautiful. It took me quite some time to get over that woman. Unrequited love has a nasty way of taking hold of person. It wasn't entirely unrequited though, I finally did have her, many years later and a few months before she killed herself. And no, fuck you, I am not the reason she killed herself. By the time I was finally able to sink my cock into her she was no longer the girl I had been captivated by. She was older, more wrinkly, hadn't aged nearly as well I did. That's when I realized I didn't even want her anymore, not really. I was more obsessed with the fact that I couldn't have her, than the actual woman. Like I said before, I always get what I want.

My phone chirps.

**_Her: Maybe._ **

**_Me: Well, Sweetheart...you left me somewhat unsatisfied…_ **

The little bubble with moving dots on my screen tell me that she is typing. It goes on for quite some time and I wait, anxious. When her reply finally comes through I know that she must have deleted it several times and started over because it’s not nearly long enough to have taken so long to type.

**_Her: I don’t want to move too fast._ **

**_Me: So what do you want exactly? We're adults so no point in games. Let’s lay it out on the table._ **No sense in beating around the bush. Once again it takes a while before she replies. I have time to go to the bathroom and take a piss and resume my pacing in front of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city.

**_Her: What do YOU want exactly?_ **

My first instinct is to say “I asked you first”, but seeing as how I want to be unambiguous with my intentions, I may as well let her know exactly where I stand. **_Me: I want to fuck you like there is no tomorrow. I want to eat your pussy until you're legs are shaking and you can't walk. I want to feel you inside and out and make you cum harder than you ever have or ever will again. And I have a feeling I’ll want to do if more than once. I want to do it as many times as you'll let me._ **I'm getting hard and I reach down and pull my cock out of my joggers. I want her to see it, to see what just the thought of her does to me but I know dick pics really aren't well received. I close my eyes and stroke myself, waiting for her reply, hoping my words get her excited and we can at least end the night with a bit of phone sex even though it's not really my style. Finally, it comes.

**_Her: I wanna get to know you better. We just met, you know? And I know you said you don’t do girlfriends but I’m not the type of girl who does one-night-stands. I wanna see what you're all about, you know?_ **

"Fuck,” I say to the empty room and immediately I'm not in the mood anymore.

I tuck my cock back in my pants and I go to the kitchen counter where I left a bottle and pour myself another drink. I haven't made an attempt to fully _woo_ a woman in more years than I can count. If I'm being honest, when I actually try, I don’t really have to work to get laid. And don't get me wrong, I don't settle for any cheap bimbo, I'm very picky and the women that I choose to bed are always top-notch ladies. Ladies that normally don't put out on a first date but make an exception for me. Like I said before, I'm very persuasive. The money helps too but it's not just the money. I'm not a fat, balding, old tycoon that they tolerate just so I'll buy them pretty things- they fuck me because they want to. They fuck me because I'm good-looking and witty and smart and I emanate a confidence that only a man who knows he fucks like a champion can emit.

I don't know what to do. She's trying to get the ball in her court but I never let it out of mine.

**_Her: Petyr?_ **

I turn off the lights and go to bed. She can wait this time.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hear from him yet?” Margaery asks. We're walking, on our way home from school.

“No. I think I went too far. He's not interested in dating, he just wants to fuck.” _I want to fuck you like there is no tomorrow. I want to eat your pussy until you’re legs are shaking and you can’t walk._ I had touched myself after that text. I couldn't help it. _I want to feel you inside and out and make you cum harder than you ever have or ever will again._ I had touched myself and then cried myself to sleep for being so weak and disgusting.

“So fuck him and use it.”

“I told you, I want _more_. I wanna find out what other secrets he's hiding in his closet.”

“Sans, you might not get it. I mean, you'd have to get a guy like that head-over-heels to start spilling his secrets and he doesn't really seem the type to fall hard. I mean, I think you are the most beautiful, sweet, amazing girl in the world but we're just kids. Do you really think he's gonna pull out all the stops for a teenager?”

She was really putting a damper on my spirits. “Maybe you're right. I’ll give it a little bit longer and if I don't hear from him I'll just call him and hook up.”

It takes four days. Finally I receive a text from him on Friday afternoon.

**_Petyr: Do you like fish and chips?_ **

I almost jump out of my seat in the middle of math class. Holding my phone down under my desk so no one will see, I text a reply. **_Me: Sure_ **

**_Petyr: Great. Where and when should I pick you up._ **

Now I have a problem. I couldn’t very well let him pick me up at the Poole’s house. I told him I was a student, as _college_ student. _NYU._ I’ll wait for him outside and he won’t be none the wiser that I don’t actually go there. I am somewhat familiar with the campus because my brother Robb had went there and took me a few times to show me around.

 **_Me: Abu Dhabi library on campus. 6?_ ** I remembered that library because I had thought the name sounded funny.

**_Petyr: Great. See you at six._ **

Luckily we live in the age of Google so once I arrive at the NYU campus, even though my memory is a bit foggy, I find the library with no problem. It’s about ten minutes before six o’clock. I’m early because I don’t want to take the chance of him arriving before me and going inside the building to find I wasn’t there at all. I pull out my phone and casually scroll as I wait on the sidewalk.

At six o’clock sharp his car pulls up to the curb.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Petyr_ **

  


It’s a date.

After I leave my office I go home to shower and shave. I won’t shave it all off, my stache and goatee are my thing. I just trim up my neck and cheeks, make it sharp and clean. I put on my favorite Valentino. It’s all black and the vest has a floral pattern woven into it. Like all my suits it’s tailored to fit my frame but this one is expensive and sexy. Single-breasted, the jacket snaps in front with only a single button, and the hemline stops just below my belt and above my ass. It screams _I want to touch him_.

I take one last look in the mirror. I’d fuck me.

A dab of Clive Christian Absolute before I go. I hope she likes it. For five-thousand dollars, she better like it.

She's standing on the curb thumbing her phone when I pull up, wearing a knee length pleated, black skirt and a grey sweater, a backpack hangs on off one shoulder. I know she's going to feel under dressed when she sees me but she's dressed perfectly for where we're going.

She steps forward and reaches for the door but stops when I get out. I walk around the front of the car to get to her. When she’s only about a foot away I stop. I realize my heart is racing and I can’t do anything but stare at her for a moment. She’s fucking stunning. Before now I’ve only seen her in her club attire, the sparkly, fancy dresses that dip low and show a lot of skin. Somehow she’s even more disarming in a skirt and sweater. Red locks fall loosely around her shoulders, ocean eyes look at me uncertainly.

“You didn’t tell me I needed to dress up,” she says, cheeks turning a lovely shade of red. Almost as lovely as her hair. “I thought you said we were going for fish and chips?”

“You don’t and we are. Don’t worry, you look perfect.” _Shut the fuck up, Petyr._ “I mean to say, what you’re wearing is perfect for where we’re going.” I can’t let her know how much I want her. I have to keep the ball in my court. “Let me get your bag.”

I move forward and her scent engulfs me again. Lemon and clean linens. Why does that smell so good? I open the passenger’s door and toss her backpack on the back seat, wait for her to get inside and then close it.

“So where are we going?” she asks.

“A local place actually. Maybe you’ve heard of it, A Salt & Battery?”

“You’re joking right? Assault and battery? Is this your way of telling me you’re about to violate me?”

“No, Sweetling. You’ll see. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it since it’s in the neighborhood. I see kids from NYU in there all the time.” An expression shadows her face then and I’m not sure what it is or what it means. Better yet, why the fuck do I care? My goal is simple: convince her that she wants to fuck me. I’m putting way too much thought into this.

A Salt & Battery is a little gem I discovered in Greenwich Village several years back. It’s a complete whole-in-the-wall place that I love. There’s only one stand alone table in the whole joint, so if you want to sit, you’re sitting at the bar or the tables lining the windows. When Sansa finally sees it, she looks taken aback.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, as I watch her eyes scan the store front.

“Nothing...I just...this is it?”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

If she’s going to complain, I don’t give her time to, instead opening the door and ushering her inside. I order the fried cod and chips and she orders the same. They give us our food in little red, plastic baskets lined with parchment paper and I lead her over to the window where we sit side-by-side to eat.

“What are you thinking?”

She shrugs. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Well, sweetheart, what exactly were you expecting?” I watch as her cheeks turn rosy. This girl can’t hide a thing, can she? “You were expecting a rich guy like me to take you to some upscale French restaurant, order an $800 bottle of wine, and spend the evening telling you all about my yacht in the keys. Is that it?” I pop a chip in my mouth. Not the same without the vinegar but the last thing I want is vinegar breath.

“No, that isn’t...I mean…”

Her eyes are downcast and I can feel that I’ve embarrassed her, made her feel small. I don’t want that. That will definitely _not_ get her any closer to being beneath me. I tilt her chin up with my index finger. _Damn, she’s soft._ “You said you wanted to get to know me better, remember? See what I’m all about? Well, this is my favorite place to come and eat.”

“Oh.” She smiles and turns her face, reaches for a chip and pops it into her mouth. “Why is it your favorite?” she asks after she swallows.

“What, you don’t like the food?”

“No, it’s fine, but there must be more to it than that. You can get fish and chips anywhere.”

I feign shock and hurt and put my hand over my heart. She smiles and her eyes sparkle and now I can feel the thunder of drums beneath my fingertips. “You wound me. It’s a good thing Jack didn’t hear that.”

“Jack?”

“The old guy behind the counter. The cook. I don’t think he would take too kindly to such an under appreciation of his hard work. Even coming from one as lovely as yourself.” She blushes again and it amazes me. For such a gorgeous girl, you think she would be used to compliments. “It reminds me of home, being a kid. And you can’t get _good_ fish and chips just anywhere.”

“So even though you have enough money to eat anywhere you want, you choose to come eat at this dingy little diner because the food reminds you of home?”

“You got it. Besides, rich people get on my fucking nerves.”

“But you _are_ a rich person.”

“I am but...I don’t like being around them all the time. Hell, I don’t like myself most of the time.” _Shut the fuck up, you’re talking to much._ Suddenly I have no idea why I brought her here. I should have just gone with the French restaurant and $800 bottle of wine.

“Why?”

“That is far too vast a subject to conquer in one evening, Sweetling. Why don’t you tell me something about you?”

Instantly I can feel a change in her. She shifts in her seat, crosses her legs, clears her throat. An invisible wall has just sprung up between us. “What do you want to know?”

It seems to me that neither of us want to reveal too much about ourselves. Why are we doing this? Why aren’t we in my bed fucking like rabbits? “Sansa...you brought me here to get to know me and that implies that I would get to know you as well. But I’m getting the feeling that you don’t want me to get to know you. So...why don’t we skip all this and just give into what we both _do_ want?”

I watch her face and I swear I can feel her internal struggle, can see the war waging behind her eyes. I’m holding my breath.

“Okay,” she finally says.

Exhale.


End file.
